Outlaw (Wolves of Royal Paynes #4) - Kiki Burrelli Page 0,37

helpless to move. He felt like standing next to a roaring bonfire, hot and crackling with lust. My eyes dropped to his waist because, like my wraiths, they were also traitors. I bit my lip in time to stop me from making any noises in the face of the thick bulge that stretched the front of Diesel's pants—like two cans of pop stacked one over the other.

I allowed my gulp. Technically, it wasn't a sound.

Though he stood close enough to touch, Diesel's body didn't press against mine at any point. "The next time I touch you, baby boy, it will be because you begged for it."

Sweet Jesus, how am I still standing?

"In your dreams." I'd meant my reply to be sharp, but there hadn't been enough air to produce anything more than a whisper.

Diesel nodded, accepting my reply like a gauntlet. "Sit on our bed and don't move. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" And why are my hands clasped under my chin like a goddamn maiden? I yanked them apart and shoved my fists into the mattress.

Diesel smirked. The twinkle in his eye said he knew of the battle going on in my head between my logic and my instincts. "Don't you worry your pretty little face about it."

That damn man. I was going to beg, all right, and when he got close enough, I'd kick him in the balls. I couldn't kick him in the balls if I wasn't still in his room, though, so as much as I didn't want to, I'd have to stay.

Unless he took too long.

Ten minutes later, Diesel kicked in the door, a huge duffel bag slung over his shoulder while he carried three boxes. When he set the boxes down, I recognized my book and the whetstone I kept in the nightstand beside my bed.

My lips popped open. "You can't… I didn't say yes."

Diesel emptied the duffel, carefully moving folded stacks of my clothes from the bag to an open dresser drawer. He didn't even need to push the other items already inside out of the way. The space was already there, waiting for my shirts.

And even if that filled my heart with bubbles, the kind found only in sugary soda water, I couldn't back down now. He expected me to beg. "Fine. Unpack my clothes. I'll just make you pack them back up before the day ends."

Diesel grunted, sparing me the briefest glance before he looked down at the carpet, spotting a pair of my underwear like he hadn't left it there intentionally. He stretched down to get it, bending at the waist in the opposite direction and giving me a full view of his firm ass.

I could crack a glowstick on that ass.

Maybe Jazz had a glowstick I could borrow.

"In case you were worried," Diesel said, his voice pleased and entirely too knowing that he'd caught me staring with dirty things in my mind.

While also drooling.

I wiped my mouth, and the room turned tropical, the muggy heat making me sweat. "In case I was worried—what?" I snapped, which only made Diesel smile wider.

"The worst injury from the attack, other than you almost drowning and me falling off a cliff—again—was a broken elbow that is already healing. For how much Huntley is complaining, you'd think his arm was ripped off. Kansas scanned the area. There aren't any other threats around for the moment. The Walkers came here with a message from the council and to get briefed on the Portal situation. They'll wait."

Wait?

My confusion must've shone clear on my face because Diesel's lips curled again. "Change out of your damp clothes and then stay. Only a few more loads."

"Until you turn right back around and move it all out?" I countered, but he was already down the hallway.

I didn't actually have that much stuff. He was strong enough; he could probably haul it all in one. Those glorious rippling muscles weren't just for show.

He came back much more quickly the second time. I'd only just pulled down my dry shirt when he kicked the door open, returning in half the time of the trip before. He carried less than he had the first time and did so without a stitch on from the waist up.

"Why do you have your shirt off?"

His naked chest had always been a thing of beauty but, like fine wine, Diesel had aged well. Coarse strands of silver mixed among the light dusting of dark hair across his pectorals and down his happy trail. Would they